


Queen's Dog

by redcandle17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1671767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/pseuds/redcandle17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane, bodyguard to the newly crowned Queen in the North, gets a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen's Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Wonitano's answer to question no. 7 of the ASoIaF art meme](http://wonitano.deviantart.com/art/ASoIaF-Wolfsister-meme-86525634). It won't ever happen, but that's why fan fiction and fan art exists. :D

Sansa hadn't stopped smiling since the crown had been placed on her head. Her happiness made Sandor smile himself, though he knew the way it twisted his burnt face only made him look uglier. The crown was a plain thing of iron and bronze, the same one Robb Stark had worn. It was the crown that had been nailed to his direwolf's head after the Freys had sewn the animal's head on the Young Wolf's body; the one Catelyn Stark had taken from the Frey heir before hanging him.

The lords of the North came one by one to bend their knees and swear fealty to their new queen. Sandor would have rather watched Sansa, but he forced himself to pay attention to her bannermen. It was his duty to protect her and that meant knowing which of these northmen might cause trouble. None of them showed any disapproval; not that he expected them to, not after the way the Boltons had been dealt with. Karstark blathered on about a new age, which Sandor read as an attempt to distance himself from his predecessor, who had lost his head to Robb Stark's sword. Umber roared praises to the Queen in the North, and the Mormont woman spoke of history and her hope that the first ruling queen would be followed by other changes. The lords didn't like that. Sandor saw their faces darken, but it was Arya's face that interested him.

Though she stood on the dais beside her sister's throne as her heir and the sole other member of House Stark, the she-wolf seemed more like a bodyguard than a princess. She'd worn a dress, a plain grey velvet one, but she had a sword and a dagger buckled at her hips. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, glowering at Lord Manderly. Her look promised a knife in the heart while her sister smiled and promised to try her best to live up to Lady Mormont's expectations.

"I'll bet a silver stag your sister has that crown bejeweled by tomorrow," Sandor said to her after the oaths of fealty were finished and the lords had dispersed until tonight's feast.

Arya scoffed. "Tomorrow? I'll bet a gold dragon she sends it to the blacksmith before she goes to bed tonight."

Sandor didn't have a gold dragon, but he took the bet. There was no formal tourney planned, but with a gathering of nobles and fighting men like this, there were bound to be informal contests and wagers on the outcome of those contests. He expected to make a tidy sum wagering on himself.

When Sansa went to inspect the kitchens to make sure preparations for her coronation feast were going well – and to claim the first batch of lemon cakes – Sandor trailed behind her. He liked this more than he had ever liked being Joffrey's dog. At least Sansa's dog got a lemon cake; Joffrey had never given him treats other than that damnable white cloak.

Sansa didn't think it was funny when he told her. "You're not a dog," she said, and offered him another lemon cake.

The guests seem to enjoy themselves at the feast, though there were no singers and they were forced to endure Greatjon Umber's drunken singing instead. Sansa had given him leave to partake of the feast, but that would mean sitting at a lower table far away from her. Sandor preferred to remain on duty, standing guard behind her as she ate and entertained the highest ranking lords of her realm.

Lord Umber was singing 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' for the third time when Sansa begged fat old Manderly's pardon and turned to Sandor. She held out her own wine cup and a hunk of good cheese to him. "Eat, my lord. I know you must be hungry."

"Not proper protocol, is it?" He grinned.

"No one who matters will care," she replied. She turned her attention back to her table-mates, and Lady Mormont immediately engaged her in conversation.

Sandor ate the cheese slowly. He was actually very hungry. Now that the queen had given permission to eat where he was, he signaled a serving wench to bring him food. With his belly full, he was in a good enough mood to watch Sansa dance with her bannermen and their sons without wanting to kill the men. She would wed one of them someday. Or perhaps she would wed from outside her own lands.

The death of the dragon queen had destroyed what little had survived the War of the Five Kings. When Daenerys had died fighting the Others without an heir, the Seven Kingdoms had broken apart. The Martells supported Myrcella's claim to the Iron Throne, but the girl was in Dorne while the High Septon ruled King's Landing. Robert Baratheon's bastard son Edric Storm had Storm's End and the stormlands and had proclaimed himself Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The boy might take King's Landing, but it was doubtful that the Tyrells would recognize him as king, not when Mace Tyrell had crowned himself King of the Reach. The Lannisters certainly wouldn't. The westerlands had been closed off since Jaime Lannister had fled to Casterly Rock with his 'nephew' Tommen.

Sansa certainly wouldn't wed Jaime or Tommen or any Lannister. And she had already refused the Vale's Harry Arryn, a fact Sandor was very glad of. She still might wed Robert's bastard or a Tyrell though. Perhaps he could convince her to wed one of Lord Manderly's grandsons. A Manderly would likely be too fat to fuck her and Sandor could perform that husbandly function in his place. The idea made him smile.

Queen Sansa rose and delivered a speech before retiring for the night. She spoke such pretty words; it was a pity guests and castlefolk alike were too drunk to listen. Sandor followed her and, as soon as her bedchamber door had shut behind them, he pulled her into his arms. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up, which Sandor now knew meant that she was waiting for him to kiss her, not that she couldn't bear the sight of him. He plucked her crown off her mane of auburn curls.

"Do me a favor and wait until tomorrow before you hand this to the blacksmith," he said, "Or I'll owe your sister money."

She opened her eyes, her pretty face wrinkled in annoyance. "I wasn't going to change it. It was Robb's crown! All the old kings of winter had crowns just like it!"

Sandor was surprised.

She added, "I'll wear it when I hold court. Lord Manderly gave me a lovely silver necklace that can be remade into a splendid coronet for every day wear."

That was the Sansa he knew and loved.

"And when the next harvests come in and there's more coin in the coffers, I can get one with jewels. Perhaps eventually I might have a different crown for each gown!"

Sandor kissed her before she could become completely lost in fantasies about cold metal and stones. He scooped her up and carried her over to the bed. He hadn't fucked her yet; her maidenhead was too valuable to be lost before it was spent on a good marriage alliance. But they did other things.

It had been her idea. The first time she started to play with his cock and suggested pleasuring him, Sandor was enraged. He would have killed Littlefinger if the man hadn't already been dead. They never spoke about it, but he knew that was who had taught Sansa things suited to whores rather than proper little ladies like her. He didn't refuse her, though, and he enjoyed the things she did and asked him to do.

"We don't have to wait if you'd rather we didn't," Sansa said.

Sandor looked up at her face. He'd been enjoying the taste and feel of her on his tongue and he had no idea what she was talking about.

"You can take me now if you'd like."

Ordinarily he would have laughed at the blush that stained her cheeks, but he was too distracted by what she'd said. "I thought we agreed that I'd fuck you as soon as your husband was asleep, whenever you wed."

"That was before," she said. "You'll hardly mind if I'm not a maiden on our wedding night, will you?"

 _Our wedding night_?! Sandor could smell trouble. "What in the seven bloody hells are you talking about, girl?"

"I need to marry," she said. "I will need heirs and a man to fight in my name, and my bannermen will compete for my hand until I'm wed." She was smiling brightly. "So I'll marry you."

" _Me_? I am no lord, little bird. My grandfather kept the hounds at Casterly Rock. Your lords will never accept it."

"I'm the queen. They've all sworn loyalty to me. I will wed you tomorrow and they'll accept you. Any who do not accept my lord husband will remain here until they do."

"What's to stop them from swearing now and coming back later with swords in hand?"

She hugged him. "If they do, it'll be treason and you'll stop them. I do not think many of them will risk their lands and titles and lives over this."

It was madness. There would be conflict when Sansa made her announcement tomorrow. He could be dead before he ever got to reap the reward he'd died for. Sandor raised Sansa's legs and plunged inside her. She gasped, but didn't seem to be in pain. It was over embarrassingly fast, and Sandor was grateful she was ignorant of how shameful his performance was.

"I thought there would be more blood," she commented, sitting up and staring at the red spots on the sheet between her legs.

Sandor pushed her back down and used his fingers to satisfy her. He would have liked to sleep beside her, but it was too risky. It was one thing for people to harbor suspicions about them and whisper gossip; it was quite another thing to be caught abed. If by some miracle her scheme worked, he would be able to sleep beside her for the rest of his life. That was a pleasant thought. 

"Don't forget to open the window, please," Sansa said, as he finished putting on his clothes.

Her chamber was wonderfully warm. Sandor couldn't understand why she liked the cold, but she always asked him to open the window before he left. He did it, kissed her one last time, and headed to his own sleeping cell. There were many men he might have to kill tomorrow and he needed a good night's rest.

 

All of the lords put their hands on their swords when Queen Sansa serenely invited them to attend her nuptials in the godswood late in the afternoon. Sandor's hand was already on the hilt of his sword.

"Her Grace surely jests," Lord Manderly cried.

"That dog?!" shouted a bushy-bearded clan leader.

"My lords, I am quite serious. I have raised Sandor Clegane to lordship for his loyal service to my House and granted him the lands that belonged to the traitor Roose Bolton. He is a fine match for me now."

"The girl doesn't know what she's saying," grumbled Greatjon Umber.

One man drew his sword from his scabbard. "I'll kneel to no Lannister dog."

"How can you bare your blade after eating my bread and drinking my mead, my lord? After sleeping beneath my roof?" Sansa rose and stepped forward a pace away from her throne. "The gods do not forgive those who violate guest right. The Freys learned this to their sorrow when the gods revived my lady mother from death to punish them. I should hate for any such sad fate to befall you."

"My lady, can we not take some time…"

"Certainly, my lord. You may guest at Winterfell for as long as you'd like and get to know Lord Sandor until you love him as I do."

The lords heard it for the threat it was and backed down. Sandor was not optimistic that they wouldn't cause trouble once they left Winterfell, but for now he had more pressing concerns. He had no clothing remotely acceptable to wear to wed a queen. And Arya Stark was going to kill him.

Sansa had told her sister of her intentions this morning, but Sandor hadn't spoken to the she-wolf since then. She was marching towards him now, looking very unhappy. When she reached him, she jabbed her finger into his chest.

"Sansa is even stupider than you. You'd better not ever call me sister."

Sandor watched her stride away, amazed. The she-wolf had accepted it. And there was more good news. Sansa sent a maid to him with clothes fit for a prince. They fit perfectly, like they'd been made for him. Sandor wondered how long she had been planning this.

 

She looked even more radiant awaiting him before the heart tree than she had when she'd been crowned. Sandor thought the gods were repaying him for what they had allowed Gregor to do to him. Or perhaps he was still laying fevered beside the Trident and this was all a dream. If that was so, he never wanted to wake up. Sandor bent his head to kiss his bride and prayed silently that this happiness would last.


End file.
